


Hold My Girl

by TheUsualSuspect



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 5+1 without the 1, F/M, Fluff, Lowkey making out, Olicity hugs, Slow Dancing, i was going to have angst and then decided against it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23243803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUsualSuspect/pseuds/TheUsualSuspect
Summary: 5 times Oliver gets to hold his girl and how it feels to be held and holding someone.Inspired by George Ezra's Hold My Girl.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	Hold My Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Guys,  
> This is the first of what will (hopefully) be a series of song inspired fics, whether it's just from the title or from the song as a whole. This fic is inspired by George Ezra's Hold My Girl, if you haven't heard it, I recommend that you do because 1) it's great and 2) it carries the vibe of this fic. 
> 
> Also, if anyone feels like checking it out, I have an Olicity / Creative Writing playlist on Spotify that I listen to when I write because some of the songs are just nice to write to or because they just have BIG Olicity feels (good and bad).  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7A5YWM39uddPzeS9vqGoZB?si=QShpwCs2QQ-RbmlzKq__QA  
> Also, if the spacing is weird blame this website for formating it weird.
> 
> Enjoy xx.

Hold My Girl | Arrow  
Oliver x Felicity

ONE

She knew he was going to be okay.  
In her soul of souls she knew that this time was not going to be _the_ time.  
The time that she loses him.

But once again, much as he was the first time Felicity met the vigilante, Oliver was passed out on the med table in the Foundry. His pulse was faint, straining under his body’s pressure due to the poorly clotting wound in his leg. Actually, wound was probably too small a word for the meteor hole gaping in his thigh, seemingly unable to stop bleeding. The tourniquet Diggle had applied in the field before he and Roy had hauled him into the van and broken every traffic law in the state to get him back to the Foundry, was merely a garter to the effusive injury. 

By now Felicity has almost mastered keeping her calm or at least attempting to during these instances, the whole Oliver is bleeding out and could probably die instances. So she was standing there, awaiting instructions from Digg as he inspected the wound, fiddling with the necklace around her neck. Always a nervous habit of hers, doubled in reasoning now all because Oliver had given it to her as a gift. 

“It’s a miracle it missed the tendons and ligaments. Doesn’t need surgery,” Diggle thought aloud, “I think.”  
“Why is he bleeding so much then?” Roy asked.  
“I don’t know. Minor artery?” he speculated, reassessing the amount of blood, “arter _ies_?”  
Felicity spoke up as her brain caught up to her eyes and realised what was going on, “his blood isn’t clotting properly,” she stalked over into Oliver’s makeshift sleeping quarters and started rooting through the drawers of his bedside table, “probably because he’s been taking blood thinners,” she came back into the main room and held the half-empty container of Apixaban out to Diggle.  
“Why is he taking blood thinners?”  
“I don’t know.”  
Diggle and Felicity shared a confused look.  
“He needs a coagulant,” Felicity stated, her brain clicking back into a functional mode. 

She knelt near the bottom drawer of the med cabinet and started rooting through it to find what she needed. She took out a vial of tranexamic acid and after a few quick body mass calculations, she drew the drug into a syringe.  
After deeming it ready for use she passed it to Digg, who punctured it into Oliver’s arm. It was fast-acting and as Digg began to clean and suture his thigh, his heart rate started picking back up. 

Eighteen stitches and a bag and a half of blood later, he was stable. Felicity pulled a stool over to Oliver’s side and sat with him as Digg and Roy went to scrub their hands clean. If experience had taught her anything she knew that Oliver wasn’t out of the woods yet, and even though he wasn’t bleeding out anymore, her heart rate was still sitting way higher than it should’ve been. She knew because she could feel Oliver’s slower, steadier rhythm in her hands completely out of sync with the erratic one in her chest.

When he woke up hours later, Felicity’s head was resting next to his shoulder on the table. Her body, bent and twisted, was one slumped from exhaustion, not from choice. It certainly didn’t look comfortable, considering the table itself was anything other than comfortable. He sluggishly moved his arm, groaning slightly at its soreness, to brush the side of Felicity’s face. With his head rolled to the side, her eyes met his as they opened slowly.  
“Oliver,” she said sleepily, “you’re alive.”  
She let out a long breath, as elation ran through her and she sat upright. Oliver forced his shattered body’s lips into the smallest smile.  
“Yeah.”  
Her next intake was shaky, so was the exhale. She tightened her grip on his hand.  
“I’m so glad you’re alive.”  
As she grappled with her tightly- strung body and its epidemic of emotions, her breathing continued to shake and tears began to burn at her eyes.  
“Me too.” He lifted his hand to brush away the tear ready to fall down her face. She pressed her hand against his where it rested on her face, “I’m going to be just fine,” he reassured.

He was real.  
He was there.  
He was alive.

He drew his hand back to help slowly hoist his body into a sitting position, groaning at his body’s stiffness and the discomfort as the stitches re-adjusted. His bare legs hung over the side of the table, brushing against Felicity’s waist.  
“Come here,” he offered, holding his arms out to her.  
In a step, she threw her arms around him and buried her head in his chest, he folded his arms around her, squeezing her closer to him, sinking his head to rest in the crook of her neck. He could feel Felicity holding onto him for dear life, her hands fisting into his shirt. He knew how much he’d scared her as he’d gone down because his only memory as he faded out was the tremor in her voice as he called her name and the thought that that would be their last memories of each other. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers, running lightly through her hair. She could smell the traces of aftershave, mostly sweated off and masked by antiseptic, as she shifted her head, her nose trailed across his shirt and she fitted the last scent in; his fabric softener. The one she stocked in the Foundry since he’d declared he was living there. All together he smelt like Oliver Queen; he smelt like home. 

With his head still against her neck, he asked, “can you help me over to bed?”  
She pulled her head back far enough to look him in the eyes.  
“Of course.”  
She helped, to the best of her ability, to support his injured side as they made their way to the bed. She pulled back the covers on his side and helped lower him down, watching him as he gingerly stretched his legs and covered them with the covers. She walked around the other side of the bed, toed off her shoes, pulled off her shirt and shimmied out of her skirt, leaving her in a singlet and underwear. Oliver looked at her curiously, his eyes grazing up her body.  
“Are you staying?” His tone was hopeful, ridden with relief.  
She pulled back the cover on her side and snuggled over into Oliver’s side.  
“You scared me today, so tonight I’m not going anywhere.” She pushed a kiss to the side of his forehead.  
“Okay.”

TWO

It had started as rain, but when the late-night, midnight chill set in, the unforgiving rain turned into unforgiving snow. Which of its own mind had draped itself across all of Starling. Black ice covered the roads, roof crevices ached with the pooling of snow and front doors pushed heedlessly against the icy wall blocking their homely exit. It was the kind of snow that ploughs struggled against, that kept people at home, office phone lines continually ringing with reports of frozen doors and shut-in cars.

Needless to say, they remained sequestered away from the snow falling out past the window. Neither of them would be going to either of their jobs until the snow cleared. When Felicity had opened the curtains after she woke up, she did so expecting clear skies from the absence of rain pattering against her window. Instead, she was met with heavy snow falling over a darkened sky. She’d sighed resignedly and fallen back into bed, pulling the duvet back over her and rolling over to face Oliver, who was still asleep. It was unusual for her to be awake before he was, even when she had to go to work, dragging her sluggish body out of her bed as she slapped her bedside table for her blaring alarm. He would be awake, either lying next to her or pottering around her apartment. Sometimes in her haste to turn off her alarm she’d reach over and almost knock over a cup of coffee he’d left for her with a note pegged underneath reading ‘ _gone for a run_ ’. Now, he just slept, back against the mattress, face to the ceiling. A face free from torments, from memory, from the burden of his mission. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, hidden by the covers and listened to the snow pelt around the world outside. 

Oliver awoke sometime later, noting the sleet he could see piling up just lining the edge outside Felicity’s window. As his eyes ran down from the window to Felicity lying beside him, groggily, he met her eyes.  
“Good morning,” he said sleepily, rolling onto his side.  
She smiled dopily back at him, “morning.”  
He looked over her again, back to the window.  
“It’s snowing.”  
She made a sound of agreement as she rolled back over to match his glance.  
“The last time I saw snow…” he started hesitantly, “was in Russia. These circumstances are much better.”  
He wrapped an arm over her and pulled her closer to him, pressing a kiss to her temple. She sighed in contentment as she relaxed into his embrace falling back against him.  
“It’s a shame the roads are all snowed in. I doubt I’m going to be able to go into work today,” Felicity said, her tone implying that it very much wasn’t a shame.  
“That’s too bad,” Oliver’s tone echoed hers.  
“Which,” Felicity started, leaning over to grab the tv remote from her bedside table, “means it’s a great day to introduce you to my Netflix queue.”  
Oliver chuckled in agreement, “okay,” he let out.  
She promptly turned on the tv mounted to the wall opposite her bed.  
“But first,” she started, rolling over to face him, “breakfast.” She kissed his temple. “What do you want?”  
“You.”  
She slapped him lightly, playfully.  
“I’m being serious here, Oliver.”  
He chuckled at her commitment to food and she felt the rumble in his chest under her fingers. They laid there, Felicity a sigh away from contentment. This was a reality she’d spent a time imagining wouldn’t come to fruition. A plethora of mornings waking up alone, in the same cold room to a perfectly sunny day outside being able to receive none of its warmth. She envisioned lone movie nights, accompanied merely by a bowl of popcorn or a pint of ice-cream. Now, even when the world outside was frozen, snow kissing the ground, inside she was warm, inside she was wrapped in Oliver’s arms pushed up against his warm chest as he contemplated breakfast.

“Omelette?” he asked.  
She hummed in contentment, “sounds good.”

Even though the agreement was made, he didn’t attempt to move. Moving would mean leaving Felicity, currently, he was content to lay there and feel her in his arms. Feel the warmth of her skin, evidence of the blood running through them. He could feel her fingertips flitting across his bare chest and her head resting in the crook of his neck. Seeing may have been believing, but feeling Felicity Smoak so at peace, so happy in his arms, to him- that was living. And believing something and living something are two very different things. 

Saving the city may have been his mission, but it could wait for another day when the sky wasn’t throwing snow by the kilo-litre at the city. It could wait for another day, another morning that was a little less perfect than this, where he might be able to find the will-power to extricate himself from this embrace, from the perfect blonde, in what, right now, could be fooled as the perfect life. When he was with Felicity, the city could wait.

“I love you,” he said.  
Felicity smiled at the ceiling, Oliver’s professions of love still surprising her with the ease he now spoke them. After the second first time, the first _real_ time where he wasn’t fooling Slade (and himself) it was like the floodgates opened, now he’ll just say it aloud for no apparent reason.  
“I love you too,” she replied, “but,” she added, “I love your omelettes more.”  
Oliver grinned at her less than subtle hint, and in taking it, he begrudgingly began to pull himself away from Felicity.

“You make omelettes and I’ll make coffee,” she suggested, sitting up to take one of Oliver’s hoodies from the end of her bed and pull it on herself.  
He nodded in reply. 

Before he was even three steps out of her room, he felt her arms wrap around his waist and lips press themselves to his shoulder.

THREE

It had seemed like a good idea at the time- like a great one even.

“I want you to be my date to the Gala,” Oliver said.  
Felicity looked up from her phone, her lips parted in surprise, “wh- what?” she stuttered out.  
He put his elbows on the table and leant his head down to be eye level with her.  
“I would like you to be my date to the Gala,” he stated again, slower this time.  
Felicity still didn’t respond, frozen.  
“As my actual date, not just my business associate slash executive assistant.”  
She blinked at him once before shaking her head to clear her thoughts.  
“Okay.”  
“Okay?”  
“Yeah.” She was beaming up at him, “I’d like that.”  
He returned hers with a smile of his own.  
“Besides,” she said drawing her face closer to his, “I’d never miss an opportunity to see you in a suit.” 

Now that she was here though, the band of her stockings rolling down her stomach, growing tighter with each fold. She tried, failingly, to un-roll the material through the fabric of her dress. It was a half-hearted attempt because she knew the only way she’d properly fix the problem was if she could hike her dress up and stretch the stocking back up. However, the middle of the Gala Hall was no place to do that and it had only proved more difficult as the night progressed to excuse herself from the tedious conversations she and Oliver got caught in. 

Currently, Oliver was chatting to one of his father’s old friends, Douglas, one of Robert’s backers when he’d first taken over QC. Oliver had met him several times in his life, and in none of them did he like him. Douglas was something from the past, not just Oliver’s past, but the literal past, still set in his ways of using money to get him everywhere and calling it talent, as well as the mind of someone out of the fifties. Oliver put up with him because he was someone who still backed the company even now and any reasonable businessman couldn’t afford to lose someone that loyal, regardless of how ethically backwards they were. On that thought, he felt Felicity’s arm tighten around his waist, causing himself to drag his attention back to the conversation. 

“Not that I pay much attention to all the _talk_ at the company, but evidently some things I heard were true.” He gave Oliver a congratulatory look that only came off as seedy, eyeing Felicity and intentionally, lingering on a few places a little too long as he took in her form. Again.  
It did nothing but help put Oliver on the defensive.  
“Excuse me?”  
“You and your _Executive Assistant_.”  
“I’m not sure I like your implication,” he said in a clipped tone, edged with a growl, his grip tightening around Felicity’s waist.  
Douglas all but blanched, Felicity watched the cogs turn in his head as he tried to backpedal.  
“I just mean that these things aren’t usually flaunted so… publicly.”  
That time even Felicity’s facade fell, and a bitter rage set into place on her face. It was quite a match next the set of Oliver’s jaw and the white-knuckled fist he held by his side.  
“Everyone assumes those antics go on, but they expect them to stay behind closed doors.”  
“Well, you know what people say about those who assume,” Oliver’s tone was deeper, more menacing, less ballroom floor, more tied up human-trafficker.  
And Douglas could tell, he swallowed. Once, twice. He’d just seen Oliver go from charming CEO to looming threat within seconds. As Oliver leaned in towards him, he outwardly shuddered.  
“I can think of many things that go on behind closed doors. Many that you wouldn’t want to be a part of.”  
Oliver pulled back with a smile and pulled his suit jacket straight, the ominosity of the threat still lingering in his eyes.  
“I think I’ll be seeing you, Mr Queen,” Douglas let out curtly, before turning on his heel and becoming lost in the crowd. 

“He should consider himself lucky I don’t have a bow and arrow handy,” Oliver growled quietly.  
Felicity, however, had calmed herself, taken a few deep breaths and shaken off his comments.  
“I know, and I can’t say it doesn’t bother me that people think I got to my job a certain way; I mean it certainly wasn’t the traditional route, but it’s not what they think. And also that they think that you’re so shallow you’d keep me around for my looks.” She took a breath, “But I had to make my peace with it or I would’ve been tempted to put an arrow in Isabel myself.” Her eyes skittered quickly across the room, making sure no one in earshot was looking at them.  
“Hey, hey,” her voice softened, her hands coming up to cup Oliver’s face in an attempt to settle him, “look at me. This was your idea, you said that it would be a good night.”  
Oliver huffed.  
She could sense his restless energy jumping under his skin, looking for a fight.  
She dropped her hands to his, stopping their shaking and with it allowing him to pull a deep breath.  
“Who says I don’t keep you around for your looks?” Oliver let out, striving for a humour he didn’t quite reach.  
Felicity’s face softened, “let’s dance,” she offered.  
When he opened his mouth to protest Felicity interrupted.  
“Dance with me and pretend the world doesn’t exist,” she pleaded softly, drawing him towards her. 

Oliver’s hands slid around Felicity’s frame, one hand finding place on her lower back and the other cradling her right hand. The refrain from the band was a gentle melody on the dance floor. Their bodies swayed together, leaning against one and other, feeling the warmth from each other’s skin seep through to theirs. Felicity’s face rested against Oliver’s shoulder, turned inward to face him, eyes closed, a part of her worrying she’d leave a creamy smear of foundation behind on his suit jacket. Knowing thought, that even if she did, he’d never mind.

Oliver twirled them around slowly, making Felicity bring her head back up and rest it on top of his shoulder.  
“I figure we should at least look like we’re dancing,” he quipped.  
She pulled her head away to look at him slightly, “Then I suppose we waltz. Since this song is, you know, a waltz.”  
Oliver quirked his lips up at her, in an almost challenge.  
Between the two of them they had enough coordination to waltz around the floor trip- free and without stepping on toes. Stepping in time to the slow music, they alternated watching each other and watching their feet on the floor, as they skated along the ballroom floor. Felicity even turned under Oliver’s arm, without losing the steps nor rhythm. 

For Oliver it was just another moment he got to hold Felicity, feel her against him, her hands in his, illustrating the way their bodies could seamlessly move together. She was the light, his light. Felicity wanting to dance was a great idea, because when he held her _the_ world didn’t exist, only _their_ world did.

FOUR

Their days and nights were crazy busy. QC meetings during the day, hours spent reading over reports and negotiating schedules with the Applied Sciences manufacturing team. Their nights were no better, always a new lead to track down or someone somewhere doing something dodgy. Felicity had grown familiar to the chill on her face and crick in her neck associated with falling asleep by her desk in the Foundry. She also knew the gentle shake of Oliver’s hand as he inevitably woke her up, before ushering her to her apartment to get some quality sleep. Not that it ever was. She hasn’t slept well alone since she started dating Oliver. Any night he hasn’t been there with her has been less than quality sleep, and recently; that’s a lot.

They hadn’t had anytime to themselves outside of the QC offices in the last three weeks. No date nights, no movie nights, no lunches not spent assessing their re-build of the company’s reputation. It was going well, slow, but well. Over the last year they had attracted new blood into their pool of investors with the success of their Applied Sciences division, as well as Oliver’s re-spun dedication to his role as CEO. Felicity was right (she was always right), she knew Oliver would be good at anything he put his heart into, and that was what he did this time around with Queen Consolidated. People noticed. 

So, as she watched him shake hands with Harper Jones and his associate wearing a genuine smile on his face and walk back towards her office, she couldn’t be prouder, she also couldn’t be more exhausted.  
“That looks like it went well,” Felicity said.  
“It’s promising, I think we’ll be hearing more from them soon.” Oliver replied, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he leant back against Felicity’s desk.  
“Good.” She placed a quick kiss on his cheek, “And speaking of; that’s your last meeting for today, which means we can go home before eight this evening.”  
He rubbed a hand against his forehead, “Yeah, after I finish the paperwork for the McKinley merger.”  
She shook her head, telling him not to worry about it, “I’ve taken care of that, all it needs are a couple of signatures and it’s good to go- and I think that it could probably wait until morning.”  
He drew a hand around her waist, pulling her closer to him, “You are too good to me.”  
“That’s what you pay me for,” she quipped with a smile.

He would’ve kissed her then and there, but they’d agreed to keep things between them at work at least quasi-professional. Which at times made their working relationship difficult, especially when this was the longest they’d really had to themselves in three weeks. She felt it too, the band of his arm around her middle, embering a slow burn through her dress, it was Oliver, it was comfortable. Her head resting against his side, warm under her cheek. 

Oliver had other things to do, so many other things to do. Other responsibilities, responsibilities he’d never ever dreamed of actually taking on, or wanting to take on. Not until Felicity had agreed to be his EA and support him through the entire company take back. It was scary what he was capable of with her at his side. She was the calm in his storm, and right now they were in the eye of it. She was his stopwatch, pausing time by only touching him. Surely there would come a time where things would dissipate back into a normal rhythm where they’d have time for each other, but for now, they took the moments while they could. Creating stillness in their own oasis of time, creating time with just one another. Oliver had spent the last three weeks searching for these moments, he didn’t want to let it go now that he had it because then the storm would pick up again and he had no idea when it was going to pass. But it would. Eventually.

FIVE

She was barefoot in jeans and a navy blue camisole by the time Oliver let himself into her apartment, the pasta bake in the oven, almost ready to come out. His footsteps echoing through the living room, muffled in places by the rug over her timber floor as he walked into the kitchen.  
She turned to greet him.  
“Hey.”  
“Hi.” He placed a bottle of wine on her counter, “I come bearing gifts.”  
She roped her arms around his neck, “the best kind.”  
She leant up and into him to meet him in a kiss, their lips sighing into one another. Oliver’s arms moved from her back up to cup her face, a gentle action that never- failed to upset the butterflies in Felicity’s stomach in the best way.

She sighed in contentment as they pulled back and she lowered herself back onto flat feet. His hands falling onto her shoulders. As much as she didn’t want to lose the most contact they’d enjoyed in weeks, the oven timer was signalling her attention and she didn’t want the pasta bake to burn. She spun around with a sigh and turned the oven off while reaching for her oven mitts on the counter beside the oven. The still hot air streamed out of the oven as she opened it, carefully removing the bake from inside and letting it sit on the stove to cool. Discarding the mitts back to their home, she reached up into the cabinet above the counter and pulled out two wine glasses. Oliver unscrewed the bottle of red and passed it over to Felicity, who poured two generous glasses for the both of them. 

Both of their phones pinged at the same time, upon checking them, they found a message from Diggle with information on the location of an arms deal going down that night. Felicity sighed and then took a large sip from her glass.  
“We need to get on top of this,” Oliver said, regrettably.  
“We do,” Felicity agreed before pausing, “but nothing is happening for another five hours, so let’s just not worry about it for the next hour.” Subconsciously, she was slowly running her hands up and down his arms, “Let’s just have dinner and some wine and worry about the bad guys later. The city won’t fall in an hour.”  
He shot her a small look of argument.  
“Okay, well, technically it could fall in an hour, but it won’t. We’re just talking about an arms deal here, the type of thing we deal with all the time. The type of thing that we can come back to after dinner,” she pleaded, embellishing her point with a quick kiss on the lips.  
He nodded his head in submission.  
“In this case I believe that crime will wait for us.”  
He chuckled lightly at that.  
“Okay, you go and sit on the lounge while I plate up, because I did say I would cook for you.”  
He took his glass and the bottle of wine over to the couch while he got situated. Felicity cut the bake into quarters and served one each onto the two plates and then dished some of her leafy garden salad next to them. She brought those and cutlery over to Oliver and set them down on the coffee table before quickly returning to the kitchen to get her glass of wine. 

When they finished the pasta bake, after Oliver had seconds but before they’d finished the bottle of wine, Felicity caught Oliver checking his watch. She swatted his hand away from it.  
“It’s not time yet and if it was, I’m sure Digg would’ve called,” she reassured, “multiple times.”  
“Yeah,” he agreed half-heartedly.  
“As much as I appreciate and love and understand what you are doing for this city, you need to take some time for yourself.”  
She watched him take a deep breath in, hold it, and then exhale.  
“Come here,” he said, gesturing for her to move into him.  
She shuffled across the lounge into Oliver’s open arm, cuddling into his side and sliding down, letting his arm fall across her shoulder and secure her there.  
“This is nice,” she murmured against his chest.  
He hummed in agreement.  
They remained on the couch, laying side by side, Oliver’s hand lazily stroking it’s way through Felicity’s hair, an almost sleep falling across him, full bellied on pasta and wine. 

His forced, albeit not unpleasant tranquillity was ruptured as he felt Felicity shift against his side, shuffling further up to nuzzle her head into his neck, pressing a kiss against the skin there. His hand in her hair stilled for a moment, in surprise. And she noticed. Feeling emboldened, she moved up further and pressed another kiss against his neck. And then another one for good measure.

And another. 

And another. 

And another, kissing and sucking gently up his neck, leaving tiny purple marks in her wake, until she’d repositioned herself on top of him, her legs straddling the prone Oliver on the couch, his hands just barely holding at her hips. Her slow trail of kisses found its way up to his jaw, mapping the expanse. She pressed kisses across the plains of his cheek, before finally meeting his lips. He took one hand off her waist and pushed them upright, just barely letting Felicity’s lips lead their back and forth dance. 

Oliver’s hands rested across her back with his wide-splayed hands pressing against her shoulder blades he pulled her into him. Her mouth fell open against his as her hands came up to his face, pinkies tripping over his jawline, hands brushing against the stubble that lay there. 

From the very first time, Felicity had found that kissing Oliver was like rolling down a grassy hill; fast and slow at the same time, potentially dizzying, while succeeding to grow a bubble of want in her stomach. Okay. So maybe, the whole bubble in her stomach thing wasn’t like rolling down a hill, but either way, kissing Oliver was an experience. He always held her close, hands on her face or settled on her back, cradling her body against his. His hands were always gentle, while his lips were fire; flaming with desire or humming with contentment. She’d also learned the difference between kissing Oliver and being kissed _by_ Oliver, issue with the latter: she was completely at his mercy. Even when his kisses were like honey he still had her gasping softly against him. 

He’d just led her to pull his shirt off, and her hands had immediately ran down his chest, when they broke apart with a groan as Felicity’s phone rang.  
“Sorry,” she let out breathily, maneuvering around to pull her phone out of her back pocket, scooting back from Oliver who had laid back down, “that is the ‘time to get arrowing’ alarm that I set an hour ago.” her mouth twitched in disappointment, “I said an hour and it’s been an hour. So, if you want to get going…”  
Oliver quirked his lips in response, “You know.” His hands reached for her again, fingertips slipping under the edge of her top, “You could probably just set it for another half an hour-”  
“And we’ll pretend like we didn’t hear it go off the first time,” she offered quickly.  
Oliver was gently pulling her towards him, “Mhmm,” he hummed, his eyes glinting playfully as Felicity acquiesced into his touch, falling to meet his lips once again, her fingers seeking out purchase on his chest. 

They laid there, on Felicity’s couch giving and taking, pushing and pulling.  
Loving  
Caressing  
Holding.


End file.
